


Under Stars Chilled by the Winter

by Muccamukk



Series: Post-War Dreaming [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst and Feels, Birthday Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Farmhouse of Love, Lingering Wartime Trauma, M/M, Post canon, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 09:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17505614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: January 1947. A storm blows in, bringing a power outage and memories of winters past, but Nix remembers something Dick has forgotten.





	Under Stars Chilled by the Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dick Winters' 101st birthday!
> 
> Title from "You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To" by Cole Porter (seem to be on a run of Porter titles).
> 
> This is set in the Post War Dreaming universe, but all you need to know is that instead of going to New Jersey, Nix and Dick set up a farm in Pennsylvania.
> 
> (Let's see if I can manage to post this without accidentally sticking a major archive warning on it!)

Dick slammed the truck door then, when it didn't latch, opened it and threw it shut with enough force to shake the whole delivery truck. He almost regretted it, but he'd hit a patch of black ice just before the turn off, and almost put the damn thing in the ditch, and his heart was still pounding from the moments of pumping the breaks and struggling with an unresponsive wheel. That would have been a fine end to the day. Not that the day was over yet. Dick thought about opening the door just so he could slam it again, but in the end tucked his gloved hands into his armpits, hunched his shoulders against the blowing snow and headed for the barns.

At least he could see the light above the barn door that indicated that the generator was up and running. The power seemed to be out in the whole county, and Dick had been worried sick the whole drive back.

The wind tugged at his jacket and hat, and crept in the gap under his scarf, biting the back of his neck, the bare skin around his eyes, his very soul, it seemed. Dick kept his teeth clenched tight so they didn't chatter and opened the barn door just enough to slip in sideways.

Nix should have been out half an hour ago to turn the eggs, but he hadn't chalked it off on the board. Dick felt anger flare and jammed that down too, sticking it right next to all the things this weather reminded him of. He shivered as he pulled off the outer layers of his clothes and kicked off his boots so that he could put on the sterile coveralls and clogs. At least it was still warm inside the hatchery proper. Dick could hear the generator chugging away in the outer shed, keeping the warming lights on. Dick held his hands between the lights and the eggs, stealing their warmth for as long as he could until the guilt of the idea forced him into action.

It was quiet in here, just the generator and the wind whistling over the barn's roof, not the full-throated roar of the gale outside. Dick wished he could stay, let the sanctuary of the place they'd made wrap around him like feather blankets, until he drifted asleep—free from worries, free from memories.

The wind, if Dick could hear it, it meant he hadn't properly caulked all the cracks in the rafters. He'd have to get Nix to help him haul the ladders around and try again. They couldn't afford to lose any more heat. They'd spent the morning nailing boards over a gap that had blown through overnight—Dick grimly determined, Nix groggy and unhappy to be awake before noon—and later Dick had driven out a delivery of chicks that they absolutely could not keep for another day without starving them. It had only been a few miles to the next farm, but the power had gone out when he was there, and he'd helped getting the generators running, and then the ice on the way back...

Dick realised that he was standing blankly at the end of a row of eggs, his hands having moved automatically, turning each on to its unmarked side, doing what Nix should already have done. Jaw set, and not against the cold this time, Dick went around to check the generator. That at least was still working fine and had enough gas to last for hours. Dick lingered near it, enjoying the warmth of the engine. They should look into switching to boiler heating if they expanded much more. This wasn't the first time the power had gone out that winter, but the expense of custom equipment would set them back, and the farm was already in debt from their initial layout. Nix had wanted Dick to look at the accounts with him, to plan for the year ahead. Nix had been frowning when he'd said it, and Dick had put him off. He'd look on the weekend, and pretend until then that the worry wasn't gnawing at him.

Dick lingered in the hatchery as he passed back through. He didn't want to struggle back into his soaked and freezing coat, or layer his scarf around his face—though not under his helmet, he'd left that in France—or the heavy farmer's boots that froze his toes even through two layers of dry wool socks—which Dick still felt obscurely guilty for having now, when before... Dick shook his head and pulled his winter clothes back on. The bone-cold of the day didn't mater. He was in Pennsylvania, not Belgium, and the war had been over for more than a year. He needed to stop being so pathetic about what was done and gone and pull himself out of this funk.

He wanted to just put his head down and dash into the house, but made himself dig his flashlight out of his coat and walk around the barns and house and check for wind damage, and then around the coup to make sure all the chickens were safely inside. They'd found an especially stupid one frozen to death the week before, and Dick had had to turn away from and close his eyes until he couldn't see other frozen bodies in the snow. The wind against his wet lashes had almost frozen them shut because he'd forgotten that winter was no place for tears, and it was stupid to cry over a hen they'd have eaten anyway. The ground had been frozen too hard to bury anything. Dick didn't know what Nix had done with the body.

They were all safely tucked away now—Nix had made sure they all got put in after that, had told Dick not to worry about it. The beam of Dick's flashlight wavered, fading against the swirling snow as the battery started to give. He turned away from the chicken coop.

A gust tried to tear the storm door out of Dick's hands as he climbed the porch. He slammed that behind him as well, and the inner door while he was at it. "You didn't turn the eggs," he shouted before he even had his hat and scarf off. The hallway was dark, and the only light Dick could see was the glow of a kerosene lamp somewhere in the combined livingroom and diningroom.

"Was just heading out when I heard the truck," Nix yelled back, not sounding the least bothered by Dick's accusatory tone. He appeared a minute later, layered in sweaters enough to make his torso look round, his hair rumbled, and something dark smudged across his cheek. He leaned up to kiss Dick before adding, "Figured you were already bundled up, and would want to check them anyway."

Dick wished he had a logical rebuke to that, despite how pettish it was to want to find fault in his lover. Not being able think of something to say, he yanked his gloves off with more force than he needed and kicked out of his boots. Nix pushed Dick's jacket off and caught it, taking it with him to hang near the wood stove.

"Cold out there," he noted dryly, but didn't comment on Dick's fit of temper.

That was enough to shame Dick into nodding and following Nix through to the living room without further attempt at censure. He thought of Nix's parents, undoubtedly in the perpetual summer of Florida and California, and remembered that Nix didn't have to be sticking out Pennsylvania winters on a chicken hatchery. Dick figured he could stand to remember that kind of thing a little more often. "Thanks for getting the generator going," Dick said. "Mrs Goddard figured there was a whole string of polls down between us and Lebanon. Don't think the power will be back on any time soon."

"Probably not," Nix agreed. "Which means that electric oven I thought was a great idea..."

Dick sighed. He had no idea why he'd agreed to an extravagance like that, especially in the country. Then he sniffed the air. "Then how come I smell bacon?"

"Wood stove," Nix answered, "managed to not set it on fire too badly, and I heated up some cans of soup."

The lamp was set in the middle of the table which was set with two bowls of cream of potato soup, with bacon bits, and a plate piled high with slices of that dark caraway bread they bought off Mrs. Liebeskind. The lamplight made it all look soft and lush, like the detail of a Rembrandt. For a moment Dick hesitated at the end of the hall, looking at the the enchantment of the pool of warmth and light—of home—in the middle of a winter storm.

"Not quite taking you out to the Ritz, but..." Nix started to say apologetically, but Dick pulled him into a half embrace, then turned and kissed him.

"What's all the fuss anyway?" Dick asked. "I was expecting a sandwich."

"For your birthday?" Nix demanded. He stepped back and put his hands on his hips. "Gee, thanks, Dick."

"Oh," Dick said. He'd remembered when he'd seen the date that morning—hoped then that twenty nine would be better than twenty seven or twenty eight had been—and then one thing after another had driven it out of his head. "Thank you, Lew. I, uh, I wasn't expecting anything."

"Eat your dinner. It's getting cold," Nix said. "I don't want to have nearly burned the place down for nothing."

Dick wolfed down the soup and about half of the plate of bread, not having realised how hungry he was until he sat down in front of the plate. Even the tinned soup with charred bacon tasted like the best meal he'd had since Christmas at his mother's, and the company was less awkward. Nix picked at the food more slowly, mostly chewing on bread dipped in it, and watched Dick eat with a soft expression that always made Dick's chest tighten. The lamplight gave his skin a golden cast, and caught auburn streaks in his hair, It was the kind of light that always made Dick want to run his hands through Nix's hair and kiss him stupid, though that was a lot of kinds of light, if he thought about it.

He hadn't even thought about having the energy for that kind of thing, but Nix's made him wonder exactly how cold their bed was going to be, and what they might do to warm it up.

When Dick had wiped up the trace of his soup with the last crust of the bread, Nix said, "So, considerate kind of guy that I am, I decided to make you a cake."

"Oh, no," Dick said reflexively.

"Hey, it was going pretty well until the power went," Nix protested. "Which was about five minutes after I put it in in the oven. It tried just leaving it in, to see if the residual heat would cook it."

That seemed like a reasonable idea to Dick, but he had even a less of a head around the kitchen than even Nix did. "Did it work?"

"Nope," Nix said, a little too cheerily, getting up to clear the dishes. "But I put it outside, and it's sort of a frozen custard now, if you want to try it."

Dick laughed—how was it that Nix could always make him laugh?—and said, "Sure, why not."

He stayed where he was and let Nix get the cake pans off of the porch, shaking the coat of snow off as he went. Nix set the first down on the table and chiselled a bite out of the middle, but instead of eating it, he held the spoon out for Dick.

Still grinning, Dick leaned across the table and took the spoon in his mouth. After the soup, the cake batter was shockingly cold, but it was also rich and chocolatey, and not quite too hard to chew. Dick closed his eyes and opened his mouth for a second bite, Nix's chuckle making his chest warm even as the frozen chocolate made his tongue numb with cold.

"That's not bad," he Dick as he chewed the second bite. It was starting to make his teeth hurt, but his praise made Nix's whole face light with a smile. Dick decided he'd eat both pans of if it kept Nix looking as happy as that.

"Yeah, well, patent pending," Nix said. "You got a card from Edith and Ann. It's on your desk. I couldn't think of what to get you that..." that either of them could afford, since Stanhope had cut Nix off on charges of desertion, and the hatchery was still clearing its debts. "The cake was my big plan."

"You didn't have to get me anything, Nix," Dick said, wishing he could get across how much every single day of the four years Nix had promised meant to him. On his birthday the previous year, he'd had dinner with his parents, but he'd been worn thin from that factory job, and already living in the tiny apartment in the industrial part of town. Looking at the years of dusk-to-dawn labour that lay ahead of him—without Nix because Dick had been stupid enough to send him away—had seemed impossibly bleak. Bleaker even than the year before when they'd been on the road between Belgium and Haguenau, because that at least had seemed that it must have an end to it, one way or another.

"Sure, I did," Nix said, and chipped off another piece of cake batter to shut Dick up.

Dick finally drew the line at half a pan, especially when it became clear that Nix wasn't eating a heck of a lot himself. "You can stick them back out on the porch for tomorrow," Dick said, hoping they wouldn't poison a raccoon.

"Let's leave the dishes for tomorrow too." Nix held out his hand and started to draw Dick back towards their bedroom. "Come on, birthday boy, I want to give you your present."

"Not the cake?" Dick asked, feigning cluelessness.

"I'm hoping this will turn out better," Nix told him.

Nix had warmed the bed with bricks he'd set near the wood stove, and held the blankets up for Dick to crawl into a cocoon of warmth and then got in bed behind him. He made love to Dick slowly and methodically, drawing him out until Dick was begging for Nix to take him, then doing everything Dick asked and then some.

They lay together, after, Nix smoking and humming an old Dinah Shore song, entirely pleased with himself, Dick lying curled up against Nix's side, wishing one of them wasn't going to have to get up in a minute to check on the generator. He wanted to stay like this forever, not just that night, but every night for the rest of their lives. He wanted to feel just like this every birthday, and every day between birthdays, until they died of old age.

"Many happy returns, huh?" Nix said as he rolled out of bed, electing it his turn to go out into the gale.

Dick smiled after him, knowing Nix would be back with freezing toes in a few minutes. "Thank you, Lew," he said, and hoped Nix could tell how much he meant it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Baby chicks (and post war dreams)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888886) by [Lysel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysel/pseuds/Lysel)




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